


Bloodlines

by telleroftynesidetales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telleroftynesidetales/pseuds/telleroftynesidetales
Summary: The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin has reached a fever pitch. Battle lines are being drawn. In such pivotal times, families must stick together. Is it possible that cousins from the feuding houses can remain on the same page?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Bloodlines

Pale moonlight shot down from the midnight sky. Its radiance illuminated High Street, baptizing the strip’s businesses in an angelic glow. A northern wind blew and an icicle fell from the doorknob to Honeydukes.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise flinched, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his double-breasted black wool peacoat. “You’d think those damn shopkeepers would do a better job at cleaning before they leave.”

Head shaken in disgust, he continued to speed walk along the cobblestone. His freshly polished oxfords crushed Firewhiskey glass the closer he got to the Hog's Head Inn. Hickory-scented smoke wriggled free of the pub’s chimney, intermingling with the smell of Butterbeer spilled on the patio. 

Cackles of laughter and profanity bellowed through the open windows. A blond man, sporting a swollen upper lip and a broken nose, stumbled out and faceplanted onto a muddied stack of the Daily Prophet.

“I suppose this is when the commoners feel most at home. Savages, the lot of them,” said Blaise.

“Which is why I suggested meeting during the day, when things are much more to your liking.”

Rounding a frost-covered willow was an ebony young woman he knew far too well: Angelina Johnson. She wore a red velvet cardigan over a gold cable knit sweater. Her braids had grown substantially since last year’s Hogwarts graduation, fluttering just past her shoulders with each breeze. 

“You know I can’t be seen talking to a Gryffindor,” Blaise answered.

Angelina frowned. “It didn’t seem to be a problem when you were copying my charms notes two years in a row. Maybe if Slytherins were more concerned with their studies than quidditch and petty feuds we wouldn’t have to act like total strangers.”

“Did you call me here to lecture me on maturity,” questioned Blaise, rolling his long, slanting eyes.

“I called you here because I was worried about my cousin,” Angelina snapped.

“I’m not the little boy you used to babysit in London anymore. I can look after myself.”

Angelina seized Blaise by his popped collar, dragging him behind the wintry tree from which she came. She shoved him against the iced bark, pointing her index finger at the tip of his nose.

“Are you mad? You-Know-Who is back and you’re not the least bit bothered. Explain to me how you could be so foolish!”

“I’m not only handsome; I’m extremely clever,” Blaise gloated, pushing his cousin’s finger away. “The Dark Lord wants loyalty. I intend to give him mine until the time is right. Once he believes he’s won the battle, I’ll be the one to murder him. I’ve become quite the adept student in the Dark Arts. Professor Carrow thinks I’m a prodigy.”

“And what does my sister think of you?”

A heavy-set bald man strode out of the alley nearest the pub. He puffed on a cherrywood pipe, the fragrance of fruity tobacco radiating off his navy-blue turtleneck. The vapors coiled around his midsection, blinking purple before fading. 

“Hello, uncle Samuel,” said Blaise. “I’m sorry for not answering your letters lately; I’ve been busy with my studies.”

The man stroked his wild, graying beard. “You’ve also not answered the question I just asked: what does my sister think of her only child sucking up to a Death Eater?”

“My mother,” Blaise loudly started, though quickly lowering his tone to avoid attention, “Would be proud of me for taking the spotlight from that lucky little git Harry Potter.”

“Bethany’s ambitious but I know she wouldn’t want you gambling with your life for fame,” proclaimed Samuel. 

“I beg to differ,” Blaise retorted, gritting his teeth. 

Angelina rubbed her temples in annoyance. “You’d better be damn happy I didn’t bring my wand. If I had it, your big mouth would’ve been sewn shut by now.”

“Yes, I’m sure that Weasley dropout has been teaching you all sorts of joke magic, hasn’t he,” countered Blaise.

“Enough,” yelled Samuel, putting away his pipe. “I did not come all this way to watch you two bicker. There are far more important things to worry about. We will continue this matter somewhere more private.”

Digging into his suit’s chest pocket, he retrieved a handful of orange ashes. He then tossed the particles above their heads, where they sat suspended in midair. 

“What? I can’t leave, I have assignments due tomorrow,” Blaise protested. 

“This is bigger than your school marks,” justified Samuel, locking arms with him. “Now, Angelina.”

Heeding her father’s words, the witch hooked Blaise’s free arm and whispered, “32 Canehurst Gardens.”

The powdered substance fell upon them and their bodies disappeared into what felt like the center of a hurricane. Instinctively, Blaise closed his eyes to avoid the bursts of cold wind ruffling his lashes. Wondering about the peculiar means of transportation, he forced himself to take a peek. The three of them flew in a straight line. On both sides of him, mere inches apart from his cousin and uncle, were walls of orange static. Up ahead, he saw the blurry outline of a neighborhood. Speeding toward a brownstone house, they stopped safely at a short flight of rain-soaked stairs.

“Insanity, absolute insanity,” coughed Blaise, leaning onto the house’s iron railing. “How did we even get here?”

Angelina scaled the steps. “In a Flash Ash, made from the ashes of a Kenyan wizard who supposedly could fly the moment he was born. Fred and George are still perfecting it but tonight was a good time for another test run.” 

“You’ll both be much calmer after a cup of tea,” Samuel predicted, following her. 

Huffing, Blaise stood on wobbly legs and moved to join them at the welcome mat. Being the last to enter, he quietly closed and locked the door. Hearing a whistling kettle, the Slytherin boy turned and found himself in a hall of memories. Pictures framed with silver stitching hung on the maroon walls, forever confined to rectangles but moving with life. He walked along the buffed hardwood floor, carelessly glancing at each until he reached his favorite. 

The joy of his visit to Ollivanders was immortalized in a 40 x 30” white gold frame. He and Angelina pretended to duel by the shopfront, saying the names of fake spells and acting out the supposed effects when struck. They laughed and walked out of view. Watching the sequence play twice more, he smiled.

Spoons dinging against ceramic cups refocused Blaise. He cleared his throat and went right, entering the Johnsons’ living room. Angelina reclined on a beige couch, sipping lavender tea. Samuel drank beside the fireplace, dusting a picture of a woman with milk chocolate skin who was outfitted in a lilac cape dress. Blaise instantly recognized his mother. She was straightening her kinky locks of hair, meticulously combing with a shimmering dragon heartstring wand. 

“Pretty nice visiting this old place again,” prefaced Blaise. “But what’s so important that we couldn’t finish our conversation where we were?”

“Have a drink. She remembered how you like it,” Samuel replied.

An emerald teacup drifted into Blaise’s hands. Eyes darting to Angelina, he saw her twirling a wooden wand. Gulping down the warm beverage, he knew exactly what was in it: honey tea with three sugar cubes and a pinch of ginger.

“Some things never change,” said Samuel, patting Blaise’s shoulder. “Go sit next to your cousin.”

Blaise dragged his shoes along the cream-colored carpet and reluctantly did as he was told.

“A war’s coming. You-Know-Who has learned from his mistakes and wants to punish everyone who didn’t bow to him,” Samuel began, pacing between sips. “I can’t fight. My heart’s been getting weaker since I was 12. I know I’m on his hitlist, me and your mother. Back in the first Wizarding War, some undercover Death Eaters were trying to extort us. We told two Aurors where they lived. When they were arrested, both traded inside knowledge of his plans to avoid being sent to Azkaban. One of them told the other Death Eaters our names.”

Blaise trembled with rage, spilling the remaining tea in his cup onto the couch’s pillows. “I won’t let those bastards touch you or mum!”

“I’m glad you said that because it’s why we brought you to our home,” responded Angelina.

“What do you mean,” Blaise asked, blinking.

“Only one of you may fight in this war. Though it pains me to say, we'll need the other’s sworn duty to be protecting myself and my sister,” declared Samuel.

Blaise weighed the options in his mind, the possibility of him slaying Lord Voldemort now more unlikely than ever before. “So how do we decide?”

“A simple flip will tell us. Heads you get to fight in the war, tails Angelina,” Samuel explained, pulling a platinum Queen Elizabeth coin from behind his ear.

Blaise nodded and so did Angelina. 

Samuel’s thumb flicked the shiny piece of Muggle currency airborne. It flipped a total of six times before landing in his palm. His eyes watered and his hand closed into a fist.

“Dad, what did it land on,” questioned Angelina. 

“Please, tell us,” Blaise added.

“Angelina, my sweet baby girl, you…will fight in the war,” revealed Samuel, tears dampening his beard hairs.

Head bowed, Blaise acknowledged the disappointing result. “What happens next?”

“Take off your coat and kneel,” Samuel instructed, taking an oak wand from his belt clip. 

Blaise obeyed the command without question. The dark green polo he wore underneath gripped his slender torso, the emblem of his house imprinted on its black buttons.

“We’ll make the Unbreakable Vow,” Angelina said, lowering onto one knee as she clasped his right hand. 

Gulping, Blaise shakily mimicked the gesture. 

Samuel tapped their linked hands with the tip of his wand, causing links of bronze sparkles to encircle their wrists.

“Will you, Blaise Zabini, accept the outcome of the coin toss as final, and allow your cousin, Angelina Johnson, to rightfully take her place in the forthcoming battle?”

“I will,” Blaise swore.

A lean flow of fire emitted from Samuel’s wand, spinning around the hands of the cousins.

“And will you defend your mother and I, with your life, when the Dark Lord’s minions come to kill us?”

“Yes, I will,” Blaise exclaimed. 

One last fiery stream ringed their wrists and vanished. Blaise rose and slipped into his peacoat. “Guess I’ll be leaving, early lectures tomorrow and all.”

Samuel handed him the remaining bits of In a Flash Ash and kissed his forehead.

Unresponsive, Blaise hurried out of the living room and headed for the door. The second he reached for the tarnished knob, he heard Angelina. 

“I know our family is in good hands. You’ve always been talented,” she softly uttered.

“Nothing will happen to them, that doesn’t happen to me first,” Blaise asserted, opening the door.

“I love you,” said Angelina. "Don't you ever forget that."

“I love you, too, cousin Angie,” affirmed Blaise, departing into a night lit with lightning.


End file.
